


its an endless cycle (and im tired of it)

by pockethans



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: "self love? whats that is it edible?" -jisung in this fic, 11 pm breakdowns in the bathroom, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Crying, Han Jisung | Han-centric, Hurt No Comfort, I tried?, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Minor Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Timeskips, but theyre not really significant to the fic either, im sorry jisung ily ur literally the cutest person ever, inconsistent verb tense bc i Suck at writing, its all angst sorry lmao, its there but rather insignificant, lapslock, me? self projecting on jisung? more likely than u think, oof (tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockethans/pseuds/pockethans
Summary: jisung stares at his reflection and recoils. his hair is too dry. his cheeks are too chubby. without his makeup, his acne and acne scars are obvious.he's hideous.--or: the one where jisung can't ignore the non-existent stares, can't see what others see in him, and can't escape the pain, the expectations, the voices, the voices, the voices.





	its an endless cycle (and im tired of it)

**Author's Note:**

> i really dont know what to say tbh. theres a whole lot of self projection bc i havent been feeling too great ,,,,, and uh yeah thats all there is really. tw? for breakdowns and intense self-hatred. theres no self harm or anything dw, but im warning yall anyway
> 
> this is unbeta'd and was written over a span of like 2 and a half hours so theres probably some inconsistencies and grammar errors and im sorry about that. hope you uhh enjoy ? there might be some formatting errors oof

if there's one word jisung will not use to describe himself, it's ‘beautiful’.

 

intelligent? perhaps - his grades are above average and he's notorious for being one of the smarter kids in his grade level.

 

creative? definitely. it’s his strongest point, his creativity. he prides himself in his song production and lyric writing, and what was once a hobby is now a profession that takes up every spare second of his time, but he isn't complaining because he gets to spend it with two of his best friends. plus, the attention and comments and love he receives from fans always motivates him to do more.

 

short-tempered? unfortunately. growing up with younger siblings hadn't exactly does his temper justice, but he's working on it.

 

he can go on, listing both good and bad words to describe himself, but the one word he will never _ever_ use is ‘beautiful’.

 

(or any word that describes his appearance positively, although he's guilty of occasionally calling himself cute when he tries on a new sweater or fixes his hair just right)

 

but he's nowhere near beautiful.

 

he doesn't understand why anyone even calls him beautiful. his mother was the first, tucking him into bed one night and cupping his cheeks gently and pressing a soft kiss to his nose, whispering, “you're so handsome. so beautiful. my precious baby.” and jisung had whined out a quiet “ _mom, please”_ with a shy smile on his face.

 

but he wasn’t beautiful.

 

and even as his mother continued to whisper praises to him every night before bed, he never believed them.

 

at first, he thought she was lying. lying because she was ashamed of how ugly her son was. but of course, she could never say that to his face. so instead, she lied through her teeth, calling him beautiful so he could feel better about himself, calling him beautiful only because she was his mom and that was her job, to unconditionally love and support her son.

 

but then other people did it too. family, friends, classmates, fans, even random strangers on the street would stare at him in awe, saying “ah, jisungie, you're so pretty!” or “you're beautiful, how?” or “you're the cutest person i’ve ever seen!” and all jisung could do was laugh awkwardly, smile tightly, blush, and whisper ‘“thanks” and be on his way

 

but he never believed a word they said.

 

•••

 

jisung is well aware that his mental health wasn't the best. he's pretty sure mentally healthy people don't use every opportunity to degrade themselves.

 

and it's because he uses every opportunity to degrade himself that he's pretty sure he isn't mentally healthy.

 

it's not like he _wants_ to - he just can't help it. one minute he'll be rummaging around the kitchen looking for a snack, and the next minute his brain will chide him for eating so much, saying that _“eating more food will only make you fatter”_ or _“junk food will only make your acne worse”_ and then he'll be putting up the bag of chips or box of pocky he had in his hands and he'll shuffle back to his room, ashamed.

 

sometimes, he'll be lying in bed, chilling on his phone, texting his friends, and having a great time. all will be well until his brain pipes up, saying how unhealthy he is for lazing on his phone instead of exercising, or how he could be doing something productive instead of wasting time. and then he'll be lying to his friends, saying his mom needs him or claiming he forgot to do his homework, and he'll be getting off his phone, left in an empty room with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.

 

so yeah, maybe there's something wrong with him.

 

he's aware of it. he knows his self-hatred isn't normal. he knows he's too depressed (is that the word? he hates using labels. especially since he's never gotten diagnosed) for his own good. and yet, he can't do anything about it.

 

the voices won't stop. his self-esteem only gets worse with each passing day.

 

sometimes, he wishes he can turn his brain off. total silence would be better than the constant nagging to stop being a lazy fatass.

 

•••

 

he feels the stares as he walks through the halls, and he can't help but bury his face deeper into the scarf snug around his neck.

 

the logical part of him says they're staring because he's popular and well known and generally liked. the realistic part of him says nobody’s staring at all. but the insecure part of him, the largest part of him, says that they're staring because they can't believe how _ugly_ he is.

 

does he have something on his face? is his makeup messed up? did his hair get disheveled? has he gained weight?

 

no, wait, it doesn't matter. he's always been ugly.

 

•••

 

after school, jisung locks himself in his room as per usual teenage behavior. he tosses his backpack onto the bed and flops beside it with a sigh.

 

lately, he feels like he's falling deeper and deeper into the hole of self-deprecation. spiraling down and down until he can't breathe and can't think of anything else other than how he's not good enough, not pretty enough, not strong enough, not _perfect_.

 

he got a b- on his math test. he knows his mom will give a disappointed glance. a worried glance. pity.

 

_not good enough._

 

lee minho: one of his closest friends, one year older than jisung, dancer, hella talented, _hella_ pretty, and the first crush jisung’s had in years. he can't help but compare his lackluster looks to minho’s god-like visuals.

 

_not pretty enough._

 

every single one of his friends are strong. they all have strengths and they all have weaknesses, but they don't let their weaknesses drag them down. they continue forward with smiles, never letting the shitty things life throws at them dampen their good nature. he's pretty sure - no, he's totally sure - that none of them break down at 11 pm in the bathroom, crying about how they're weak, pathetic, tired.

 

_not strong enough._

 

he's so far from perfect.

 

jisung sits up and stares at his reflection and he immediately recoils. his hair is too dry, blonde dye fading and leaving his hair an ugly light brown. his cheeks are too chubby, everyone always says they're squishy, making him look like an adorable squirrel, but he thinks they only make him look like a baby. he removed his makeup once he had gotten home, and without it, his acne and acne scars are obvious, littering his face with disgusting bumps and marks.

 

he’s hideous.

 

•••

 

jisung absentmindedly sips at his milkshake as his friends laugh around him.

 

they're at the local cafe, having decided to meet up for a “family outing”, as the eldest two had dubbed it, since they hadn't had the chance to meet up as a group in a while.

 

their laughs sound distant in his mind. he can't stop thinking about how he's going to burn off the calories and sugar from the sweet treat later, about how he could be doing homework instead of sitting there, sulking. he misses the worried glance minho throws him, doesn't hear the sympathetic “school’s been rough, huh?” from chan.

 

he's surrounded by eight people, and yet he's never felt more lonely.

 

•••

 

the harsh light of the laptop is the only thing that's keeping jisung sane.

 

or perhaps it's the thing that's driving him insane. he glares at his half-finished english essay, knowing quite well that it's almost midnight, several hours past his (non-existent) bedtime. he's also painfully aware of the fact that said essay is due tomorrow in class.

 

it's times like these where he curses his tendency to procrastinate, curses the time he wasted on youtube videos and texting friends.

 

he curls up in his chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them. he rests his forehead on his knees and exhaling shakily.

 

the tears flow easily.

 

•••

 

“you look like shit,” felix comments when he walks into history class the next day.

 

“i feel like shit,” jisung replies jokily, cracking a stiff smile before flopping into his seat and resting his head on the cool desk, “i stayed up all night finishing my english essay.”

 

felix pats him sympathetically on the back. jisung tries to not think about the expression of pity that he knows felix is giving him.

 

 _so weak,_ his brain chides, _you would've finished up much sooner if you hadn't broken down last night. or even better, if you hadn't procrastinated so much in the first place._

 

it takes every ounce of self-restraint jisung has to not interrupt class by yelling out loud for his brain to shut up.

 

•••

 

“you're really pretty.”

 

jisung looks up from the spot he had been boring into the ground to gape at minho, who had just complimented him. his crush, beautiful, sassy, god-on-earth minho, just told him that he’s _pretty._

 

jisung’s tempted to deny it because _i’m not the pretty one, hyung, you are._

 

“im far from pretty, hyung. you on the other hand, you're gorgeous.” jisung says, a slight smile on his face when minho’s shy expression contorts into one of disbelief.

 

“thanks, but have you seen yourself?” he replies, punching jisung’s shoulder lightly, and jisung rolls his eyes.

 

_yes, i have. and im hideous._

 

“c’mon hyung, we both know that you’re prettier than i ever will be,” he jokes, but his voice his strained and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. minho stops in his path and stares at jisung. when the younger realizes that he’s the only one walking, he turns to look at him, confused. minho steps forward and rests his hands gently on jisung’s shoulders.

 

“i’m serious, ji.”

 

jisung rolls his eyes. “i am too, hyung,” he resorts.

 

“don’t say that about yourself.” minho continues, as if jisung hadn’t said anything. “you’re just as pretty as i am, if not prettier. you’re beautiful, ji, and i don’t wanna hear you say that you aren’t ever again. promise?” he gives jisung a soft smile, and jisung nods wordlessly, hating that he’s making a promise that he knows he can’t keep.

 

“i’ll try for you, hyung,” he mumbles, and minho’s bright smile only makes the sinking in his gut worse.

 

•••

 

jisung passes the park everyday when he walks home from school. today, as he walks by, he catches sight of a couple, sitting on a bench, sharing ice cream. they’re talking about something and laughing and holding hands and it would probably warm the hearts of most people, but it only makes jisung bitter.

 

he wishes he could have that: gentle hands holding his, soft pecks on his face and body, warm cuddles and sweet words whispered between them. he wants that, and one particular person comes to mind the more he thinks about it.

 

but he knows he never will. nobody will ever like him enough to date him, especially not minho.

 

•••

 

jisung isn't quite sure what went wrong in his life that caused him to be as depressed as he is.

 

other than the divorce between his mother and father, his life’s practically been heaven. both his parents still love him and his siblings, even if they can't physically bear to be in each other's presence. he's always been a bit spoiled. he never went through any major bullying growing up. he's talented and admired.

 

so really, there shouldn't be any reason jisung is so _fucked up_.

 

and yet, he is.

 

•••

 

“hey jisung?”

 

jisung throws chan a curious glance. the older smiles sheepishly.

 

“i just noticed that you’ve seemed a bit on edge lately.” jisung’s panic must’ve been written on his face, because chan chuckles lightly and throws his hands up in surrender. “you don’t have to tell me anything, just know that we’re all here for you, alright? you can talk to us.”

 

jisung almost opens his mouth. _i could never do that. the last thing i want to do it burden you guys with my stupid problems. you all have bigger things to worry about, i don’t want to weigh you guys down even more._

 

instead, he keeps it closed, offers a fake smile, and nods.

 

•••

 

he's so damn tired.

 

he can't remember the last time he got more than 5 hours of sleep. he doesn't remember what it's like to not be stressed. he doesn't know what it feels like to not spend every minute of the day hating himself.

 

he doesn't remember what it feels like to not have that sickening feeling in his gut, doesn't remember what it's like to see the world in color.

 

everything is gray, dull, boring, awful.

 

awful, awful, awful.

 

he wishes it would stop.

 

seated on the bathroom floor, back against the wall, gasping for air as he chokes on the sobs in his throat, he wishes it would stop.

 

he wishes he were strong, pretty, _perfect_. wishes he could tell someone, anyone, about his pain. he can't keep doing this, bottling it up inside him until he shatters like glass.

 

or, perhaps, he wishes that he at least had an excuse for his depression, his self-depreciation. childhood trauma, intensive bullying, something, _anything_ that could justify how fucked up he is. something that can explain why he's the way he is.

 

but he doesn't have any of those. he isn't strong, isn't pretty, isn't perfect. he can't tell his friends or family -  he could never burden them with his pointless, insignificant problems. and he certainly doesn't have an excuse.

 

he's just a pathetic excuse of a human being. an ugly, pathetic excuse.

 

he curls into himself, muffling his sobs and gasps, waiting for the endless spiraling ~~(down, down, down)~~ into the pit of self hatred to stop. he waits for the pain to run its course, waits for his brain to finish its crude ~~(true)~~ remarks, waits until exhaustion finally takes over and the rivers of tears flowing down his ~~(too chubby, too ugly)~~ cheeks turn into nothing more than tiny streams.

 

and then he lifts himself up and drags himself back to his room. he collapses onto the bed and falls asleep, ready to wake up as if nothing had ever happened.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on insta? @pasteljisung
> 
> i promise i dont always write angst


End file.
